


It's Better To Say Too Much

by JourneyFairfeather



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 21:20:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4115317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JourneyFairfeather/pseuds/JourneyFairfeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A "How It Should Have Ended" (or a "How I Thought It Would End") for the season two finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Better To Say Too Much

**Author's Note:**

> For Kaci and Kris, who talked me through this three-hour burst of inspiration. Title from John Mayer's "Say".

_I love you. Leo, please, stay with me, don’t go, I love you, I love you, I love you, I’ve always loved you._  The words are there, on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t say them, I can’t tell him now—this is too important.  _But you might not come back and you need to know, you need to know now, you can’t leave me here, I can’t lose you again._  I can’t say them. Instead, I reach for him, my fingers missing his but catching his sleeve. “Maybe there is.”

  
His bright eyes widen almost imperceptibly, but I know him, know every quirk and movement. His lips fall open, and I want nothing more than to kiss him. I think… I think he wants to kiss me, too. He even hesitates, his body shifting oh-so-slightly towards me, his arm relaxing in my grip, his gaze holding mine, steadier than in what feels like forever…  
  


Coulson’s voice breaks the silence. I don’t even register what he says; I only see Fitz’s face fall as he hesitantly pulls away. He nods a bit, and I still want to say more words ( _I need you here, please don’t go Fitz, please_ ) but I know it’s not the time.  
  


He disappears around the corner, his footfalls fading after Coulson’s, and the sob that escapes my lips as I start to cry is too loud, too conspicuous, but I don’t care.  
  


_Come back to me, Fitz. Please, please, please come back to me._

~

 

I’ve got to concentrate. The rock (it’s not a rock, rocks don’t spontaneously turn into liquid and then back to solid again, but I have no bloody idea what to even call it) is giving off readings my machines can’t decode, and I’m absolutely lost as to what my next step should be.  
  


Fitz isn’t helping.  
  


He’s going on and on, and he’s talking so quickly, the only things I can pick up are “dinner” and “maybe”, which he’s already repeated at least twenty times each.  
  


“…dinner, maybe? You know?”  _Twenty-one._  
  


“No, I don’t,” I say, my patience waning. Part of me realizes this isn’t the Jemma he left in tears, the last Jemma he saw before the mission, but he knows me as well as I know him—he knows when I’m focused on work my brain compartmentalizes and I can’t delve into personal issues. “You keep rambling on and on and I still don’t know what you mean.”  
  


“Dinner.”  
  


I sigh heavily. “Fast approaching, yes, and we’ll eat it, I’m sure.” I have no idea why he’s on about it.  
  


“Yeah, no, no, no, but, uh… Me and you…” He’s been so much better lately that the stammering catches my attention and I finally look up at him. “Maybe we can eat somewhere else. You know.” He tries so hard to be casual, reaching out his arm and leaning against the case housing the artifact, and I literally bite my tongue to keep from giggling. “Somewhere nice.”  
  


I feel my eyes widen, my lips start to curve before I bite it back. “Oh.” The smile tries to appear again but I don’t let it.  
  


Fitz grins, and it’s like old times again. I’ve missed his smile over the last few months. It isn’t until his hand slips and he nearly topples that it breaks and he fumbles for the next words. “Good, okay. Uh, well, uh… You should come find me when you’re finished here and I’ll start working on options to run by you…” He’s fidgeting with his hands and he won’t look at me, and it’s utterly adorable. “…for that.”  
  


I can see him thinking, his fists on his hips, silently examining the floor opposite me, and then he suddenly turns and leaves the room, closing the heavy green-and-glass door behind him. When I’m sure he’s gone, I let myself breathe, and realize that I’m smiling and can’t—or won’t—stop.  
  


I pick up my scanner, wondering how long I should stall before following him.  _Let him have a few moments, Jemma._  Putting it back down on the pile of papers I’ve been keeping notes on, I notice that he’s left a long streak down the glass where his hand was. “Oh, Fitz,” I chuckle.  
  


As I’m wiping it off with the cuff of my sleeve, I hear a quiet clink and nearly panic, my eyes immediately going to the latch on the case. It’s still secure, still locked, and I let out a sigh of relief that’s cut off by a squeal when I feel hands on my waist. I spin around, and I barely meet his eyes before he closes the space between us.  
  


I’ve dreamt of kissing Fitz before. I won’t deny it. I had my first dream about him three days after we met, and they’ve been consistent since, at least once every few weeks. In my dreams, he’s always cautious, always wary, and I know that’s  _my_  hesitation but it doesn’t change the fact that the real Fitz is far from careful.  
  


I’m almost sure my lips will be bruised when this kiss is over. I’m positive his hand will come away from my head with strands of hair caught in his fingers. I absolutely expect marks on my hip where his fingertips are pressing into my skin.  
  


I don’t care.  
  


I wind my arms around him, my own fingers finding the skin at the base of his hairline, my hand curling into the back of his shirt.  
  


He pulls away far sooner than I want him to, and I make an undignified sound in the back of my throat that makes him smile. “Uh, yeah, so… Let me go work on that, eh?”  
  


“Mm,” is all I can manage, my voice failing me as he turns and disappears again.  
  


He’s gone more than a few minutes when I fall back against my table and press my fingers to my mouth, my heart pounding.

 

~

 

Living in an old military bunker has some serious disadvantages, but none more than the fact that a girl trying to get ready for a date doesn’t exactly have a lot of fashion choices. Fitz has seen most of the clothes that are stored here, and it’s not like I can just run out to a mall and buy something new. So I do what any girl would do.  
  


“ _Skye_!”  
  


Two minutes later, I’m sitting on the edge of Skye’s bed while she yells incoherently at me for not telling her earlier about Fitz and me. “You two dorks are such idiots! It’s about time you finally realized it! When did this happen? When did he ask you out? Simmons, tell me!”  
  


“Skye, please,” I murmur, feeling my cheeks heat up. “It all happened kind of suddenly. Like, within the last twenty-four hours.” I don’t want to go into detail—I love Skye, but this feels personal. “When he got back from the mission, after Bobbi’s surgery.”  
  


“Well, it’s about time!” she repeats, and her dark eyes are sparkling. “I saw it the first day I stepped foot on The Bus. You two are linked. I knew it couldn’t just be work-related.” She reaches out and pushes my shoulder, and I glare at her, but I know I’m nowhere near threatening. “Are you going out? Is there somewhere around this godforsaken place that you can even go out  _to_?”  
  


I shrug, and suddenly I’m wondering if asking Skye for help was the right thing to do—her enthusiasm is making me nervous. “I dunno, really. Fitz asked my opinion, but I told him to choose what he’d like because he knows me well enough to make the right decision.”  
  


“You are such a romantic, Simmons.” Skye’s grin brightens and she finally turns away from me and into the tiny closet in the corner of her bunker. “I don’t really know if any of my dresses will fit you, though. You’re smaller and curvier than me, you know.”  
  


“I think I should be insulted.”  
  


“No way!” she cries. “You’re gorgeous.” I blush even deeper and am glad she’s half-buried in the clothes. “Wait! I think I have something!” She struggles for a minute and reappears holding a deep green dress. It’s got a fitted top and a slightly flared skirt, and when Skye holds it up to examine it, I realize the back has a large open space between the shoulders. It’s far shorter and far sexier than anything I’d have ever chosen for myself. “Yeah, I think this will fit great. And it’ll make your eyes really pop.”  
  


“Skye,” I say, and I have to take a breath. “Do you really think it’ll look all right?”  
  


“Oh, definitely. If Fitz didn’t already have problems taking his eyes off you, he will now.” She grinned. “Do you still have those black flats with the cut-out toes?” I nod. “Good. Go get them, and then come back here so I can do your hair.”  
  


As I move out of her room and back down the hall to mine, I absentmindedly chew on the corner of my lip. I find myself imagining Fitz’s face when I meet him down by the door, and the look on his face even in my mind is enough to make me move just a little faster.

 

~

 

“Jemma Simmons. Stop fidgeting. I’m almost done.”  
  


Skye has been saying that for ten minutes. My hair is short. How long can it possibly take to style? I do it in three minutes in the morning! “Skye, I promised Fitz I’d meet him at seven. It’s eight minutes to!”  
  


“Yeah, and the front door is a two minute walk from here. Now sit still.” She pokes my head a few more times and it takes every ounce of patience in me to not let loose with one of Fitz’s infamous lab-mishap swear strings. “Okay, okay, you’re done!”  
  


She hands me a small mirror and I glare at her in the reflection before she sticks her tongue out and repositions it so I can see myself. She’s worked magic! My hair is loose down the back, but she’s pinned the sides back in tight, even twists, leaving a few curls loose around my face and forehead. I hold the mirror out further so I can see the top of the dress and realize she was absolutely right—the color makes my hazel eyes look softer, my brown hair look brighter, my skin look softer.  
  


“Skye, I look…”  
  


“You look gorgeous.” She sits down on the bed beside me and bumps my arm with her own. “Listen, Simmons. I love you, you know?”  
  


“I love you, too, Skye,” I reply, meeting her eyes. “Thank you for this.”  
  


“You’re welcome. But I have one thing to say to you.”  
  


“What’s that?”  
  


“If you hurt that boy, I swear I will kill you.”  
  


I laugh, and she does, too, but somewhere in the back of my head, I know she’s not entirely joking. “I won’t, I promise you.”  
  


“Good.” She brushed something off the shoulder of the dress and grinned again. “Now go knock his socks off.”  
  


I lean over and pull her into a hug, and she returns it easily. I wonder briefly if this is what it’s like to have a sister, and am suddenly eternally grateful that she chose to come home to us. When I let her go, I get to my feet, pick up the little black purse I’ve also borrowed, take a deep breath, and—with a wink and a thumbs-up from her—head out into the hallway.  
  


Coulson is just inside the door of his office as I walk past, and he smiles. “You look nice, Agent Simmons.”  
  


“Thank you, sir. How’s your…”  
  


He shakes his head. “No, no, you’re not Dr. Simmons right now. I’ll be fine. Go, have fun tonight.”  
  


“Yes, sir. See you later.” I see him shake his head in amusement out of the corner of my eye, and it hits me: everyone knows Fitz and I are going on a date, and everyone is encouraging it. Why aren’t we subject to the same anti-fraternizing rules we’ve all agreed to? Have we always been so obvious that they figured they might as well just ignore it in our case?  
  


I spot Fitz before he sees me, and my heart flutters. He’s standing beside the access panel, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt sleeves. He’s wearing a dark blue button-down with small white polka-dots and a solid blue tie, a soft black sweater, and dark gray slacks. It’s his usual uniform, has been since we were kids at the Academy, but for some reason, he looks unbelievably handsome tonight. I want to kiss him, to pick up where we left off in the other room earlier today. Instead, I clear my throat lightly.  
  


“Jem—” His voice stops when his eyes land on me. I feel my cheeks darken as he moves closer to me, his hand finding mine. “Jemma, you’re beautiful.”  
  


I have no words. The way he’s looking at me, the glimmer in his eyes, the slight curve of his lips, how his fingers keep squeezing mine… I’m truly speechless. So I do the only thing my brain can think of to do; I press a kiss to his cheek.  
  


He laughs lightly, the way he always does when he’s nervous, and again, his hand tightens around mine. Suddenly, and without words, he holds my arm up and spins me around. I find myself laughing as he twirls me, and when I stop, he’s watching me with a look I’ve never seen before—he’s awed, I think. It’s the only word that comes to my head. “Are you ready?”  
  


I nod, still giggling. “Lead the way, Fitz.”

 

~

 

The restaurant is small, dimly lit, quiet…and looks far more expensive than our S.H.I.E.L.D. paychecks could ever cover, probably even combined. “Don’t even worry about it,” he says with a smile when I broach the subject. “Honestly, it’s a non-issue.”  
  


I hate when he does that, but the smile on his face reaches his eyes and I don’t want to stop it, so I shake my head, roll my eyes, and move a little closer to him on the soft leather. We look over the menu together and when we’re split between two dishes, we decide to order both and share. It’s another thing we’ve done before—we constantly eat from each other’s plates without a second thought—but it feels completely different now.  
  


“How about some champagne?” he asks as the waiter stops by the table. I’m clueless when it comes to wines, but he looks so eager that I nod. “Can we have a bottle of  _Ca’ del Bosco_ , please?” His brogue slips around the Italian name so fluidly that I suddenly discover a serious attraction to the language.  
  


“Certainly. I’ll be back in just a moment.” He disappears on silent feet and Fitz and I are left alone again. Suddenly, everything I haven’t said for the last year seems to be boiling over, ready to spill out.  
  


“Fitz, I…” I swallow, try again. “About what I said before the mission yesterday. I know we never—I never said…”  
  


“Jemma, stop.” His hand finds mine where I’m scratching nervously at the tablecloth and he lowers his head to catch my gaze. “That wasn’t how I wanted to say it. I didn’t want to… I thought I’d never see you again. I didn’t want to die knowing I never told you how I feel about you. I wish I could go back and do it differently, say it more clearly. I don’t blame you for not saying anything, because I didn’t give you a choice. You don’t owe me anything.”  
  


I could feel the tears behind my eyes.  _Don’t cry, you fool._  “I owe you everything,” I whisper. “I wouldn’t be here without you, and  _that’s_  what I want to say, more than anything. I know I’ve been distant lately, and I’m sorry, but I didn’t know how to thank you.” I brush at my cheeks with my free hand. “You keep doing it, Fitz. You keep saving my life, and I don’t know how to thank you. I didn’t think… I still don’t think I deserve you.”  
  


“Jemma…”  
  


I don’t care that we’re in a restaurant. I kiss him, right there in our little booth, his hand still on mine on the table. It’s a gentle kiss, nothing like the one earlier, and I can only hope it says everything I can’t. I break it this time, pulling away only enough to separate our lips, and I keep my nose against his because I’m not ready to lose contact completely. “You’re everything to me, Leo. Have been for longer than I realized.”  
  


My eyes are down, and all I see is the smile as it crosses his lips. “Well, how am I supposed to focus on my dinner now, Jemma?”

 

~

 

We leave the restaurant overstuffed and fizzy-brained, hands linked, voices loud. To anyone around, I assume we look like any other couple out on a date. I doubt anyone would guess how long it took for us to get here. We stop on the corner to hail a cab back to the spot we can walk home from, and as I raise my arm, Fitz pulls me against him. The flats Skye had suggested leave a few inches between us, and I have to look up at him, which feels simultaneously silly and romantic.  
  


“This has been an amazing night,” he murmurs, brushing the hair off my cheek. “I wish it didn’t have to end.”  
  


“Mm, well, I do only live three rooms away, you know.”  
  


“Jemma Simmons, you tease.” He kisses me, and it strikes me that this is only our third kiss ever. I wonder if things would have been different if S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn’t picked us up. Would we have ended up together in the regular world? Or would we have never crossed paths? The idea of never knowing Fitz hits a little too close and I press closer against him. “You all right?”  
  


“Just a little chilly,” I lie, not wanting to tell him where my mind had gone. “I’m fine.”  
  


He lets me go and unbuttons his cardigan, tossing it over my shoulders. “Better?” he asks with a smile. I grin back, smelling the light cologne that permeates the soft material. “C’mon, let’s go home.”

 

~

 

The soft murmur of the bunker at night greets us as we swipe back in a little while later. Some of our fellow scientists are still working in the lab, and I wave at Lily, our newest recruit, as Fitz and I walk past. Coulson’s office door is closed, which most likely means he’s gone to his room; I can hear Skye’s voice in the common area, followed by Lincoln’s and Mack’s laughter.  
  


“Do we want to go in there?” Fitz asks me, slowing down, swinging our hands loosely between us.  
  


“No, I think I’d like to keep tonight between just the two of us for as long as possible.”  
  


He smirks, lifting my fingers to his lips, and we continue on towards his room. He flips on the light and shuts the door as I sit down on the bed, and for the first time in hours, we aren’t physically touching. I slip off his sweater and put it on the mattress beside me, laying my purse on top of it. Fitz turns to face me, his eyes still glittering from the champagne.  
  


“Fitz, I had a lot of fun tonight. I’m sorry we didn’t do this sooner.”  
  


“Me, too.” He reaches out, and I lift my face in anticipation, but instead, his fingers pull out the bobby pins holding my hair back. When both sides are free, I raise an eyebrow at him. “There. You look more like my Jemma when your hair’s loose.”  
  


_My Jemma._  The way he says it sends a chill down my spine. “I wanted to look nice,” I admit, feeling a little silly. It’s obvious suddenly that Fitz likes—loves?—me in anything.  
  


“You look stunning,” he replies, this time actually brushing my face. “You look stunning in your pajamas, in jeans, and in this dress. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”  
  


I reach up and take his hand, tugging him until he’s kneeling in front of me. “I love you.” It’s too soon and too late all at once, but it has to be said and I feel lighter and happier than I have in ages.  
  


Fitz’s face lights up, his freckles highlighted by the blush now crossing his cheeks. He kisses me all over my face, reminding me of that horrible night in the ocean, but this time, he takes it one step past what I’d done and ends on my lips. “I never thought I’d hear you say that.” His voice is rough, and I see the tears welled in his eyes.  
  


“I’m sorry,” I say, cupping his face in my hands. “I love you, Leo Fitz. I love you.” I press my lips to his again, sighing softly when his arms encircle me. I don’t want the night to end. I don’t want him to let me go. I’m tired of being apart from him. We’re  _FitzSimmons_  for a reason, and I don’t ever want to be just  _Simmons_  again.

 

~

 

We wake up almost simultaneously the next morning, Fitz’s arms around my waist and Skye’s dress wrinkled so badly I’m sure I’m going to be putting down for dry cleaning. Despite the clear agreement that we’re allowed to be together, I don’t know how anyone would take the news that we slept together (even though that’s honestly all we did) well, so I roll over and kiss Fitz hello before climbing out of bed and grabbing my things.  
  


“I’ll see you later.” He yawns, smiles, and waves as I slip out the door and start back to my room.  
  


“Hey, good morning, Simmons!” comes Mack’s booming, happy voice.  
  


_Bloody hell._


End file.
